Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
BEN
I pulled into a parking spot along Dahlia Springs’s Main Street. With fall right around the corner, pumpkins dominated the cute small-town storefront displays.
My walk to A Whole Latte Love probably resembled skipping more than a casual stroll. I couldn’t help being excited to get my hands on this project, and if I were being honest, Heath intrigued me too. My brother Travis’s recent engagement to his boyfriend shined a spotlight on my chronic singledom. I’d always had a thing for intelligent men, so spending a few minutes with a gorgeous professor wasn’t a hardship.
Garlands of autumn leaves hung from A Whole Latte Love’s windows and a painted anthropomorphized coffee cup hailed the start of pumpkin spice latte season. I loved this place. When I’d rented an apartment in Dahlia Springs, I hadn’t known much about the town. I’d picked it for the cheaper rent and easy commute to work in McMinnville, but years later, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
I entered the coffee shop and was greeted by the delicious aroma of freshly ground coffee. My favorite scent. I immediately scanned the room for Heath and spotted him at a table in a far corner. Unfortunately, no tweed jacket, but he wore a snug pale-blue button-up with sleeves rolled to his forearms that was definitely working for him. His hair was longer than in his photo and wavy as it curled around his ears.
He made eye contact and gave an are you who I’m looking for face. I returned a yeah, I think so look and wound my way through the tables to greet him before getting a coffee.
Lordy, Heath was incredibly handsome up close. His hair had more curl to it than I’d expected. His bright-blue eyes snagged my attention away from his trimmed beard and mustache.
“Heath?”
“Yes. Hello.” He stood and shook my hand. He was a few inches taller than me, thicker, and had soft hands. “Thanks for coming. It’s great to meet you.”
“You too.” I jerked my thumb toward the counter. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Can I get you something?” I needed to escape before the urge to hug him overwhelmed my rational thought. It wasn’t my fault he had the perfect body type for hugs and cuddles.
Chronically. Single.
He gestured to his mug on the table. “I’m still nursing a drink. Thanks.”
I smiled at him, and he held my eye contact for a few beats longer than necessary. One side of his mouth inched up, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth. Too cute.
After flashing what I hoped was a dazzling smile, I turned toward the counter. “Be right back.” Who could blame me for adding some sway to my hips?
When I reached the counter and stood behind someone ordering, I looked back at Heath and caught him glancing away. Why, yes, my butt does look great in scrubs, thank you very much.
Several minutes later, I returned to the table with my coffee and hazelnut scone. My attention snagged on a reusable grocery bag on the ground next to him. I also clocked papers and a laptop in tidy order on the table. It was the opposite of my own messy computer desk at home.
I sat and gestured to his mug of clear-ish green-hued liquid. “What are you drinking?”
Heath wrapped his long fingers around the white mug. “A jasmine green tea. You?”
“A sugary, caffeinated, delicious treat. Caramel macchiato. Do you only drink tea?” I figured easing into things with some mild small talk couldn’t hurt. Now that I was in his presence, I wasn’t in a hurry to leave.
He shook his head. “I drink coffee in the mornings with a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar, but then it’s tea the rest of the day. Otherwise, the higher caffeine will keep me up all night.”
“I need coffee to stay awake all day until a reasonable bedtime.”
His thick lips curved into a teasing smile. “I find that an apple in the afternoon helps.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You sound like an after-school special paid for by a medical association.”
He leaned forward and tugged his smile to one side of his mouth, revealing a dimple. “I’m afraid I signed an NDA and can’t disclose details of my sponsors.”
He’s funny too? I’m in so much trouble.
I broke a piece off the scone. “Want some?”
Heath shook his head and lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry, I don’t hate processed sugar or anything.”
“Sure,” I said, drawing out the word, then winked. “When you do deign to enjoy processed sugar, what’s your poison of choice?”
He stared off into the distance and smiled as though remembering something pleasant. “My grandma always made a special treat for Grandpa’s birthday. She cooked a plain cake—vanilla, I guess?—in a short and wide round tin pan. It had scalloped edges too. Then she’d top it with gooey, canned cherries. I could’ve eaten the whole thing if my parents would’ve let me.”
I’d never had that before, but I immediately wanted to make it. “Yum.” My mouth watered.
Conversation flowed easily from sharing favorite childhood treats to where we grew up to important things like our favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as kids. He’d admitted having a crush on Michelangelo because he liked how fun he was, and I was a Donatello guy because he was the smart one.
Despite having different preferences for many things, we found common ground, and I wanted to know more. So much more. And as we continued talking, I couldn’t help but notice our conversation was more of the first-date variety than a brief meeting to pass along an unfinished craft project.
After debating our favorite board games, there was a brief lull in our conversation. My coffee was long gone, and Heath lifted his mug only to find it empty. My attention wandered to the bag. I supposed we should talk about the reason we’d met up.
“So, the project.”
Heath tilted his head as though trying to understand what I meant. Then his attention snapped to the bag. “Right! The project.” He passed the bag to me.
I gently pulled several granny squares out. Each had a white border, but the bulk of the squares were either solid blue, purple, green, or orange. “These are lovely, Heath.” I looked at him. “I’m excited to work on this project.”
He let out an audible breath. “Thank you.”
“This is absolutely not required, but I’d love to know who made these. I can think of them while working on the project.”
Heath’s eyes softened. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. It feels like the right thing to do.”
Heath wrapped his fingers around the mug again, and I waited patiently.
“My Uncle Rick made them. He died when I was young. AIDS.” His voice cracked on the last word.
That one word conveyed so much. I reached out and covered his hand with mine as my heart broke for him. For everyone who’d lost someone to AIDS.
“I’m so sorry.” It didn’t matter how much time had passed after a loved one died. Loss was always hard. Ever since Travis was diagnosed with HIV six years ago, AIDS-related deaths always hit me harder. I was thrilled that my brother had treatment to keep him healthy and undetectable, but it broke my heart that they hadn’t been available when Heath’s uncle needed them. It was a different world then.
He smiled warmly.
“Thank you. He and my mom were really close. This was a blanket Uncle Rick planned to make for me in honor of my love for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles .”
I smiled at the orange-and-white square on top of the stack. “Well, the gift is coming a couple decades late, but I’ll make sure you get it.”
Heath’s eyes glistened. “Thank you.”
“Did he do other kinds of crafts?”
He chuckled. “I have snippets of memories that feature closets full of colorful craft supplies and bags of yarn in all colors of the rainbow.”
I grinned. “I bet you loved to play with all those goodies.”
“It wasn’t my thing. I preferred mechanical pencils and graph paper over glue sticks and construction paper.”
“Mechanical pencils and graph paper?” I mimed clutching pearls. “Give me those bulky pens with a half-dozen colors and neon paper, and I was a happy boy.”
Heath’s laughter was warm, and his inquisitive gaze ensnared me. I glanced at his tidy pile on the table. “I don’t see any graph paper, but it looks like a lot of work. You mentioned when we texted that you come here to work after work?”
Heath straightened the already straight papers. “Such is the life of a college faculty member. Teaching and grading are already a full-time job, let alone the meetings, committee work, and the research we need to advance. I come here to work on my research.”
“Does the change of scenery help?”
He nodded. “In my office, I get distracted by the million other things I need to do, but if I want to get tenure this year, I need to get my research written.” He glanced at my scrubs. “Do you work in healthcare?”
I wanted to ask more questions about his work, but I could be patient. I wrapped both hands around my mug. “I do. I’m an oncology nurse, though, sometimes I think about moving to an HIV/AIDS specialty.” Heath’s eyebrows rose. “I have a close family member living with HIV, and I’ve had quite a few patients with it. It’s hard to imagine leaving oncology though.” Even on the hardest days, I still loved it.
Heath’s smile was sad. “It’s important work too.” He absently ran his fingernail over a tiny chip on the coffee mug. “My dad passed from cancer.”
I winced. “I’m sure if we keep talking, we’ll discover something else we have in common that reminds you of your trauma.”
Heath let out a startled laugh and then graced me with a grateful smile. “I used to get nightmares as a kid from playing Bloody Mary . As long as she’s not your distant ancestor, I think we’re good.”
I mimed wiping sweat from my forehead. “Phew. No mirror ghosts in my family tree.”
We lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment. Despite stumbling into what could’ve been conversational landmines, we got along well. At least, I thought so, and I wanted to get to know him better. I could always use more friends, and his handsome face didn’t hurt.
An idea struck. “You can obviously say no.”
His eyebrows rose expectantly.
“But I was thinking I could sit with you—quietly, of course—while you work. If I worked on your uncle’s project with you here, you could be a part of it in some way.”
“Yeah? That’s a great idea.”
I perked up. “Cool. Awesome. Great.” Quit it with the adjectives. “When should I come back?”
“Thursday?”
Two days to figure out the pattern. I could do that. “Perfect.”
“I’m curious—how do you get started? There are no written directions in the bag.”
“Good question.” I smiled at the way Heath sat straighter. I’d bet he’d been a teacher’s pet with straight A s in school. Hand shooting up with an answer every time the teacher asked a question.
I pointed to the edge of a granny square. “I can count how many stitches are in each row. Each type of crochet stitch looks different, so I can figure out some important pieces of information by studying it. There’s a good chance I can reverse engineer the pattern, but if not, there are crochet groups online where I can post a picture and someone else will know.”
Heath’s mouth formed an O . “Wow. That’s amazing.”
“Beyond figuring out the pattern for each individual square is trying to recreate the colorwork he intended. I’m not sure if he wanted all of one color to be lumped together or to alternate. That’s where we’ll have to take some creative license.”
The furrow in Heath’s brow at his concentration was adorable. “This is more complicated than I realized.”
I preened. I’d dated plenty of dickheads who’d judged my hobby. I didn’t have time for patriarchal bullshit. Heath seemed to respect the craft, which made me like him even more.
“That’s part of the fun.” Another thought occurred to me. “One thing you should know is that once I go through this stash, I’ll need to find different yarn. There’s a good chance the hues will be slightly different all these years later.”
Heath frowned. “I’ll ask my mom if she happened to come across any more yarn, but from what we found in the plastic tubs, he seemed to buy a little at a time.”
After finding out how big he wanted the blanket so I could make some yarn calculations later, I decided to make an exit while the vibes were strong. I had a habit of overstaying my welcome, but I should leave Heath wanting more.
“Well, I’d better let you get back to work. I don’t want to distract you from getting tenure.” I made a mental note to ask him more about his work on Thursday as I stood and gripped the handles on the project bag.
“Ben, thank you so much for doing this. It means a lot.” Gratitude shone in his eyes.
I squeezed his shoulder. “It’s my pleasure. See you Thursday.” I couldn’t wait.